


The Other Side of the Mirror

by SlimReaper



Series: The Mirror Realm [5]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Norse Mythology, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU for my AU, Angst, F/M, Glow-stick of destiny, Graphic mentions of torture, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Loki can also be dickish, Loki is a BAMF, Mind Control, Mindfuck, Nick Fury is a dick, No really I mean it about the platypus venom, Odin is a dick too, Platypus venom, The Author Regrets Nothing, Warning: Loki, Warning: Loki should cover mindfuck automatically, Yes platypus venom is a real thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.." Loki arrives on Earth in wrath, but this time his fall through Chaos shows him other possibilities, other endings, other lives. What will he do to recreate the only life where he wasn't tormented to madness and Ragnarok? Alt. universe to After the Fall & Mirrors and Shadows. Loki ain't a woobie in this one and the Avengers are the least of Taryn's troubles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [After the Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/245409) by [SlimReaper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper). 



> Cross-posted at Fanfiction dot net.

_I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose…_

The flying machine crashed behind him in a ball of fire and magic, and Loki finally allowed his muscles to unclench. To lean against the side of this vehicle his new slaves had stolen and close his eyes. Just for an instant, just long enough to reach for his magic– _weak, too weak, too much used in the maelstrom created by the Tesseract, but the journey would've stripped the skin from his bones in ice and fire_ _if he hadn't_ –and wrap it carefully around the worst of his internal injuries.

Unkind, for the Chitauri to send him off in such a condition. His lips curved in an expression only a fool would take for a smile. The least they could have done after he'd finally been persuaded to agree to their plan was to stop the torments long enough for him to arrive on Midgard battle-ready. It had given him a moment's pause when he'd arrived and seen the number of enemies standing between him and his goal. A solid blow in any of a number of points would have rendered him helpless.

But the mortals guarding the Tesseract had been so  _weak_. Their projectile weapons hadn't even scratched him. Only two were worthy adversaries–one currently piloting this vehicle, fully under Loki's thumb, and the other, the one-eyed warrior who'd reminded him unpleasantly of Odin, now likely dead in the flying contraption's wreck. Perhaps the Chitauri had known Loki wouldn't have to strain himself to defeat such pitiful foes.

Or perhaps they simply hadn't cared. Perhaps his pain, and their power in inflicting it, was its purpose.

"No matter," he whispered, opening his eyes again as the searing, grinding agony within him eased a bit. The night around him was beautiful and cold, the faint Midgard stars like diamond dust on velvet, the wind in his hair tasting of freedom. Headier than Frigga's wine, that. _Freedom._

An illusion, but he was a master of illusion, and this one was welcome.

"Sir? Our destination?

The slave who drove–Barton, he'd been called–called back to him. He'd have to teach them his correct address, but for now  _sir_  would suffice, especially when said in that submissive way.

Loki focused. He was getting distracted by trivialities, a side effect of pain and fatigue. It was a luxury he couldn't afford. Yes, he had the Tesseract, and that was enough for the Chitauri and their cruel master, but there was one other thing he wished to collect. This one just for him.

"San Diego," he replied loudly enough to be heard over engine and wind. "Take me to the college there."


	2. Acquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FOREVERACHARMEDONE'S FAULT. Yes, it is. The comment was: I'm sorta curious to see, since it's been established that Loki having known and loved Taryn stopped so much pain and potential bloodshed, what Avengers!Loki would have been like if he was only just meeting her as he sought to take over the world…
> 
> HOW COULD I RESIST THAT?
> 
> Time for Loki to meet Taryn. Oh yeah, this is not going to be her usual Tuesday afternoon class…

Taryn Roswell breathed deeply, centering herself in the privacy of her office as the pounding footsteps of the students entering the lecture hall echoed through the door. God, she hated this! If she could just have a university post without the public speaking, that would be  _perfect_.

Unfortunately, Comparative Mythology wasn't exactly an up-and-coming field of study that required pure researchers, and while her books sold well for their type, she would never make enough from royalties to live on that alone. Hence her daily struggle with stage fright in an attempt to educate students who were only looking for an easy A. Her class wasn't easy–anything but–and yet she still had scads of idiots sign up because they wanted a class they could sleep in.

It would almost be worth this agony if she were actually addressing people who were  _interested_.

Drying her damp palms on the skirt of her neat navy suit, she straightened to her full height–helped by a pair of higher-than-were-comfortable heels–and entered the lecture hall.

"Settle down, let's get started," she said briskly as she flipped on the overhead projector and connected it to her laptop. "We're continuing our study of Norse gods and goddesses today." She waited a moment to allow for the opening of notebooks and laptops, then clicked to start the slideshow.

An engraved image of a muscular, beardless man bound atop irregular stones appeared on the screen. A beautiful woman with long flowing hair and dressed in a short, sleeveless gown crouched awkwardly on the stones above him, holding out a shallow bowl beneath a snake on a stunted tree. Its fangs fully extended, it dripped venom into the bowl. In the background, a bearded man pounded a spike into stone, securing the chains. The prisoner's desperation and hopelessness were clear on his face and in every line of his tense body.

"Loki and Sigyn," Taryn said, making herself look away from the evocative image and face her class once more. For just a moment she stared over their heads, then she returned her gaze to her notes. "This is Loki's punishment for the death of Baldur, which we discussed last time. His faithful wife Sigyn chose to share in his punishment so that she might mitigate some of his suffering. Who can tell me who the man in the background is?"

"Thor, of course. He always did love to see me punished."

Taryn looked up sharply at the elegant, deep voice from the back of the hall–there were few enough students who answered her questions, and none of them sounded like  _that_. A tall, dark-haired man in some kind of strange armor stood at the back of the room, flanked on either side by men she could only think of as thugs–too many muscles and too much black.

"You're not one of my students," Taryn said, fighting down a sense of panic. It was ridiculous to feel frightened–the campus was safe, and this man looked more like someone out of the drama department than a terrorist–but she was frightened all the same. His friends were a bit alarming, it was true, but they were just standing there, empty hands in plain sight.

The man with the beautiful voice walked forward. "Indeed not," he agreed. She noticed the staff in his hand for the first time–curved, golden, with some kind of glowing blue light at the end. Another shiver chased down her spine. That thing looked dangerous. "I did not come so far to listen to ancient tales."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until my class is finished," she replied firmly. Whatever this guy wanted, she was in charge here, and the safety of her students was her responsibility. "You can contact the office to make an appointment."

He continued unperturbed. "A king does not make appointments, Taryn Roswell."

And she finally met his eyes.

_Insane,_  was the first word that screamed across her mind. Those green eyes swirled with madness. Madness and rage, and power. She couldn't say what kind–couldn't even be sure how she knew of it–but the power was there, it was absolutely inhuman, and it was terrifying. His outfit, black leather and green cloth and golden plates of armor, no longer looked overly dramatic at all.

"Who are you?" she whispered, knuckles white on the lectern.

His smile was all edges, a blade made of straight white teeth. "Have you not heard the phrase, _speak of the devil and he shall appear_?" he murmured. She shied away from his meaning-it was impossible. "But your drawing is inaccurate, my dear. The rocks were much sharper and the snakes far more numerous. Odin would never be so merciful."

Involuntarily her gaze fell on the image on her computer again before she shook herself. "Don't be ridiculous. Loki is a myth, the tale merely allegory." She said it to convince herself more than him.

His face tightened as if she'd struck him. "Your ignorance offends me–you, who are meant to know  _better_ , to _understand_ ," he snarled, and suddenly thrust out a hand that flashed with blue light.

The screen behind her exploded amid her students' screams. She screamed too, both from fear at the destruction and horror at what had flashed across the screen beforehand, a scene from the most terrifying of nightmares–

_–the man before her bound with chains of gory flesh, stretched screaming across spiked stones that pierced through his body, and the multitude of snakes writhing over him, biting and tearing with serrated fangs dripping with acidic venom, eating away at his flesh, and the woman holding the bowl, using it to try and scoop the serpents off him, sloshing fire and agony over him with every movement, shrieking and weeping at her helplessness and his pain, and surrounding it all, galleries of laughing revelers–_

She fought not to be sick. It was almost a relief when her computer combusted in a blaze of that same blue light. "No, it's not possible," she said, trying for a brisk dismissal that only came out weak, as if her disbelief was directed at her own words instead of the impossibility of his.

"What you deem possible or impossible are no concern of mine," he replied, calm once more, that mad green gaze holding hers again-and of course he was mad, how could he not be after that? "Now will you dismiss your students, or shall I?"

The velvet smoothness of that voice didn't change but Taryn heard the threat in the silken words nonetheless. She had no desire to see that blue light of his used on flesh instead of technology. "Class–class is dismissed," she managed. "Go, get out, now!"

One young man, braver than the rest who had immediately stampeded for the exits, hesitated. "Professor–"

The two thugs shifted and one of them somehow pulled a bow from nowhere. "Go  _now_ , Todd," Taryn repeated, finally finding her stern voice beneath the fear. Her class, her students, her responsibility to protect–if anyone was going to be hurt by this madman and his henchmen, it would be her. "It's fine. I'll be fine. Just go." She had to believe that–besides, at least one of her students was surely smart enough to call the cops before tweeting all about it, right?

When the doors closed again behind the departing students, Taryn forced herself to meet the man's–no,  _Loki's_ , it could be no one else but the God of Mischief and Lies–eyes again. "What do you want?" she asked, and she was proud that her voice only trembled slightly. "If you are who you say you are, I don't know what I could possibly offer you."

"Ah, but there is something you can offer me." He closed the last bit of distance between them and raised his hand. She flinched, but he only cupped her cheek. "Sigyn was a mistake. She never understood," Loki murmured, almost tenderly, if only she ignored the insanity in his eyes. "But you, my lady, you  _will_  understand me. I have seen it."

He leaned closer and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to pull away in terror. "I will rule this world, and you will be my queen," he whispered, and brushed the softest of kisses across her lips.

And as if his lips carried a venom all their own, Taryn spiraled down into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image Taryn was using is the iconic and evocative Loki In Chains. It's definitely worth a google. Go ahead, I'll wait.


	3. In the Lair

Taryn awoke with the kind of headache that makes self-decapitation sound like a good idea.

She groaned and raised a hand to her forehead–or at least, she  _tried_  to raise a hand to her forehead. Chain clinked and a cold constriction around her wrist prevented the movement and that was enough to make her open her eyes.

Light stabbed her cruelly, momentarily blinding her before it was cut off by the shadow of someone leaning over her. "Relax. You're safe," a man told her.

She squinted and could just make out short, light-brown hair and sharp blue eyes. "I'm handcuffed," she said, realizing it as she tugged ineffectually again. Panic and anger rose in equal measure. "How is that safe?"

"Just to keep you from doing anything stupid before you were fully awake," he replied, and to her shock, he reached down and unlocked the cuffs. "No one here will hurt you."

Oh, how she wished she'd dreamed all this! But as her vision cleared, she recognized one of the men who'd stood at Loki's shoulder when he'd kidnapped her from her lecture hall. "Who are you? Where are we?" She didn't really expect answers, but it was in her nature to question. Still, she had to force the last one out. "Where is _he?"_

"I'm Clint Barton. We're in a safe place. And the big guy is currently out."

Yet another surprise, that he'd actually answered! "The big guy, huh," she repeated dryly as she struggled belatedly into a sitting position on the edge of the cot–well, if they weren't going to call him Loki, she certainly wasn't. Her head screamed with pain at the movement and she groaned again, cradling it in her hands. This felt exactly like the concussion she'd had last year after a bike crash, which made sense. She sure as hell hadn't fainted on her own. "Which one of you broke my skull?" she asked, feeling around for lumps.

"No one, but he said you might wake up with a headache." She heard the scuff of a step, a soft clink, and another step as he returned and crouched down beside her. "He left this for it."

Taryn cracked an eyelid open to see Clint holding out a little glass vial. The liquid within it was a vivid, poisonous green, and if her eyes weren't playing tricks on her–something she wasn't certain of, the way her skull was throbbing–was it actually  _glowing?_  "Oh, I am  _not_  drinking that."

He shrugged. "Up to you," he said, apparently unconcerned. "He said it'd take care of your headache, though."

"Yeah, it looks like it." Taryn closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. "It looks like it'd take care of it fatally."

"Hey, didn't I tell you no one here would hurt you? I wouldn't give you something toxic."

"Forgive me if I don't believe my kidnapper," she grumbled back. She wished he'd stop talking and go away. His deep voice was playing hell with her migraine.

She heard him sigh as if exasperated with her stubbornness. "We've got orders," he said after a moment, and if he really was frustrated, none of it showed in his tone. "You've got the run of the place. No one will lay a hand on you. We're to get you anything you want."

Taryn lifted her head again and stared at him in disbelief. "Great. Tell me how to get out of here," she said sarcastically.

He pointed over his shoulder at the barely-open door. "Down the corridor, third left, up the ramp, another left, then a right and a ladder. You'll come out on the street."

Now she literally gaped at him. "You're not funny," she said, but despite knowing that this had to be a trick, she filed the information away.  _Third left, ramp, left, right, ladder, street._  Just in case. "You'd really let me walk right out of here?"

He nodded, but he was frowning now. "I'd rather you didn't, though. If you did, we would be punished."

"Punished?" The word reminded her of after-school detention, groundings, withholding of allowance money. It didn't fit with this muscular tough-guy at all.

He nodded, and now there was genuine worry in his expressive eyes. "The boss isn't forgiving."

Understanding dawned with a clench of her stomach as Taryn remembered her computer and overhead screen exploding in a flash of blue light, and the horrific scene of punishment they had shown in the instant before their destruction. Would a man who'd endured such terrible torture inflict it on others? The insanity in his eyes said he would. "I won't leave," she whispered, a wave of nausea rising to join her head in making her miserable.

His face split in a grin of pure relief. "Thanks. I appreciate that." He held out the little glass vial again. "This really won't hurt you, you know. You mean too much to him. He wouldn't do that to you. Are you sure you don't want to take it? You look like hell, if you'll forgive my honesty."

She shook her head, then regretted it. "I'm not drinking that," she repeated firmly. "And I can't mean that much to him–I don't even know him. I'm not taking anything on faith."

He placed the vial carefully on the rickety wooden table beside her cot. "If you change your mind," he just said mildly, then stood. "Anything I can get you?"

She started to tell him to just leave her alone, then reconsidered. "Some ice would be good," she finally said. Some aspirin would be better, but she wasn't going to take any pills offered by the people who'd kidnapped her. An ice pack would at least offer some relief. "And a bathroom?"

"Sure. This way," Clint replied, and he had her hand and tugged her to her feet–her shoes were gone, she belatedly realized–before she could yank it away from him. She would have to remember how fast he could move. He led her out the door and opened the door across a dank, dimly lit concrete hall that looked like something out of a horror movie. "Right in here."

It looked like he planned to accompany her inside. "I can take it from here," Taryn said quickly, holding up a hand. Definitely not going to pee in front of this guy, nope. "Why don't you go menace someone else for a little while, okay?"

He frowned a little but nodded. "There's a call button beside the door back in your room," he said. "Push it if you need anything. We'll come."

Not comforting, but Taryn nodded. Anything to get him to go away. He turned and walked away, leaving her alone, and she entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her, shaking.

The reflection in the mirror showed her too-pale face beneath lank red hair. Purple circles ringed her wide light-brown eyes. "What the hell, what the  _hell_  am I doing here," she breathed, asking her reflection as if it would have any answers. This was surreal, something out of a nightmare. Things like this just didn't happen outside of movies.

She stayed in the bathroom so long, she was certain someone would come and demand to know what she was doing. But no one did. She washed her face, used the toilet, found a toothbrush and comb and tried to repair some of the damage, cupped her hand under the faucet and drank and drank and drank. When she was done, she felt marginally better, her headache helped somewhat by the hydration, but the questions still remained.

Gathering her courage, she finally left the bathroom. A pair of heavily-armed men in black combat fatigues marched past, cradling automatic rifles, and she shrank back against the wall in fear. But they didn't so much as acknowledge her. She darted across the corridor, the damp tiles unpleasantly cold on her bare feet, dove into the room where she'd awakened, and slammed the door behind her. Breathing hard, she leaned her forehead against the flaking, painted metal surface, shaking all over.

"You didn't drink your potion."

She let out a little shriek and spun around. Loki stood beside the cot, frowning, the vial held in one elegant, long-fingered hand. "What?" she gasped.

He held it out. "You didn't drink your potion," he repeated. "Did you not awaken feeling ill?"

His unexpected appearance had sent adrenaline pumping through her body. Her headache screamed back, twice as intense as before, and brought along a wave of dizziness. "Why does everyone want me to drink that crap so badly?" she demanded–or tried to demand. Her voice came out weak and plaintive.

She didn't see Loki move, but in the blink of an eye, he was at her side. One arm went around her waist, steadying her against his body. "Because it will make you feel better," he replied, that smooth, velvet voice soothing her aching head in a way Clint's had not. "This is a valuable healing potion, you know. I'm sacrificing for you. You should appreciate it."

She managed to break her shocked paralysis enough to turn her face away when he raised the uncorked vial toward her face. "No," she said, both hands now planted on his shoulders, pressing away from him, heart beating like a trapped rabbit. This close she couldn't ignore his strength or his scent–like fresh-cut grass or crushed herbs, something green and sharp, and the ionic smell of a blizzard. "I don't want it."

He frowned down at her. "You distrust my motives." It wasn't a question.

"Well, duh."

His frown deepened and she regretted baiting him, but all he said was, "You study the old tales, do you not?"

It took her a moment to switch mental gears and realize he was speaking of mythology. "Yes," she replied slowly, still suspicious.

"And what do the tales tell you of Loki, little mortal?" he pressed. "When his word is given?"

Taryn stared at him for a long moment. "Loki never broke his word," she finally admitted. "Even when it would have spared him from pain or humiliation to do so."

He nodded. "And I give you my word now. This potion will not harm you in any way."

And he thought he was Loki. She watched him, considering, frightened, wishing he would release her and shaking so badly she wasn't sure she could stand unaided if he did so. Should she trust him? Obviously not. But she remembered his anger when he'd lashed out at her computer, the instant rage in his eyes when she'd declared Loki a myth. She didn't want to trigger that again.

After a moment he growled, clearly frustrated. "Your refusal to believe vexes me, woman. Look," he snapped, and released her abruptly. She fell against the door as he suddenly drew an oddly shaped knife from nowhere. Before she could react, he dragged it over his own palm, cutting deep. He flicked his fingers and the knife disappeared. Then he tilted the vial over his bleeding palm, letting a few drops of the green liquid fall onto the gaping wound. With a little sizzle, the slash melted away, leaving intact skin behind.

"There," he snarled, lifting his hand and holding it before her face, forcing her to acknowledge the healing. "Do you believe now?"

Taryn finally nodded. That it had been a real injury wasn't in question–she'd seen the tendons and muscles exposed by that cut, and streaks of blood still marked his palm. If the liquid in the vial was poison, he wouldn't have poured it onto his own cut and risked harming himself. And there was no way she was going to think her way out of this with such a horrific headache. Still, her hand trembled when she took the vial from him and lifted it to her lips.

The potion had very little flavor–it tasted of clear water, perhaps with just the faintest touch of mint. That was a relief because she'd been fearing the worst. It hit her stomach and seemed to spread outward in a soothing, cool wave, erasing pain everywhere it touched. The cessation of her headache and nausea were enough to make her feel weak again. "Thank you," she said, begrudging him the words but remembering that knife and the unflinching way he'd used it. It would be foolish to be rude and risk angering him.

He relaxed a little. It only drew her belated attention to how tense he'd been before. "You are welcome," he replied, inclining his head to her. "I take care of what's mine, Taryn."

"I'm not yours." The words were out before she could stop them. She raised her chin, following the declaration with a show of confidence she didn't truly feel–she felt scared, and lost, and uncomfortably trapped between him and the door, but that would get her absolutely nowhere. Infusing her voice with firmness, she repeated, "I'm  _not_  yours."

He smiled easily. "Perhaps not yet," he replied as if her objection was amusing, a little thing of no consequence. "But you will choose me."

She frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He reached out and cupped her face in his hands–she banged the back of her head against the door trying to jerk away, but there was nowhere to go. "I will show you," he murmured, and ignoring the desperate push of her hands against his chest, he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Loki slicing his own hand open to prove a point is actually a little bit sexy to me probably says bad, bad things about me as a person. Ahem.

**Author's Note:**

> An explanation for those of you who've read After the Fall and Mirrors and Shadows and who are now WTFing: Yes, we are in an Alternate Universe from my other Loki stories. Why?
> 
> Once upon a time in the far-off land of The Interwebs, a reader reviewed Mirrors and Shadows after seeing Avengers and said something like, "Wonder what would've happened if Loki had met Taryn after his fall instead of before it?" And DAMN YOU FOR GETTING MY PLOT BUNNIES ALL EXCITED because you KNOW I had to write that. I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING CLOSE TO DONE WITH THEM! And now I'm so not.
> 
> This is eating my brain. (Not enough to make me not finish M&S, don't worry–the happy ending fairy will visit Loki and Taryn over there, I promise!) I'll go through the reviews over there at a later date–seriously, wow, y'all rock because there's so many–and find out who you are, O Reviewer Who Awoke My Plot Bunnies, and out you to the world. But for now, you know who you are, and consider this a gift-fic. Hope you enjoy it!


End file.
